


Orphan Thanksgiving

by CrystalDen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Holidays, Light Angst, Meet the Family, Multi, Okay not really because it will resolve itself relatively quickly, One Night Stands, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, reference to parent death, strong opinions about Thanksgiving expressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalDen/pseuds/CrystalDen
Summary: Rey is surprised when the hookup from the previous evening shows up to her friend's yearly Thanksgiving event.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 82
Kudos: 296





	1. The Turkey Trot

**Author's Note:**

> This is holiday fluff with a little smut. Mind the tags, and feel free to visit the end notes.

Her feet do a little tap dance on the soft rug of the dark bedroom.

Rey slips her toes through the holes of her underwear, quickly pulling them up over her hips to rest at her waist. She squints and rubs her eyes, hoping to wake her muddled mind. There’s a glow from the first bits of morning light beyond the gauzy, cream curtain guiding her as she pads on light feet around the room searching for the remaining bits of clothing.

Her bra is missing, maybe a sock.

She’s pulling her sweater on when she freezes, a soft snore sounding from the bed.

She slowly stretches the neck over her head, sliding it over her nose and chin to reveal the room in its sleepy, still state.

The static from her sweater clings to her hair, and she pats down the tiny strands floating in front of her face.

She shrinks low, looking for her jeans and remembers peeling them off on the walk to the bedroom. She grabs her sock and glances back at the bed as she approaches the bedroom door.

She can hear the soft cadence of his breathing, his back expanding with each inhale. 

He’s impossibly long. She remembers how he loomed over her in the bar, crowding her into the dark corner as he ran his thumb over her lip.

He’s impossibly long, yet, he’s still curled around the ghost of her naked form in a way that makes him appear smaller somehow. Youthful, sweet. His arm stretches across the pillow where his fingers rest open and nearly hang off of the mattress.

If she was going to keep any souvenirs from last night, it would be the warmth that she felt and nearly disappeared into as she woke up this morning.

His snore begins to take on a deeper rumble, and she smiles, filing away his features. His relaxed eyebrows, the sharp line of his nose.

The way his lips part.

His hair falls over his forehead in a way that makes her resist the urge to walk back to bed and brush it back, combing the strands with her fingers.

The evidence of her existence is erased from his room. She swallows, turning to open the door. 

Making her way out of the bedroom, she finds her jeans, another sock, and her hair tie.

He nearly yanked it out when he tried to casually pull her hair down. The snap and yelp from her had led to a fit of drunken giggling from him, until she told him she could handle a little pain with her sex. It had effectively left him wordless and groaning as he had lifted her into his arms.

Her steps slow at the sight of another bedroom, likely a roommate, and she places a sock on each foot, allowing her to slide across the hardwood floors undetected. She sees the front door and her bag, pushed over on its side, the contents strewn around it. She’s already mentally calculating how many steps it will take to get dressed and out the door. Three for her pants, two or three to scoop up and grab her purse.

Fuck, where are her boots?

She spots her jacket and her boots splayed out as if she was still inside of them. She can wait on the jacket until she’s outside. 

The boots. Two steps for the pair.

She begins to pull on her jeans.

“I wanted coffee. I had no idea that I was going to be entertained while waiting.”

Rey jumps and gasps, the fitted denim around her ankles causing her to topple over.

Her ass is in the air and her knees sore from the impact.

She rolls to her back, yanking her jeans up as she looks in the direction of the voice.

“What the hell,” she says, staring at the tall, ginger man perched at the kitchen counter, his hand on a mug.

She stands, running her hands over the clothes to check for any other exposed parts of her body. The ginger, probably that roommate that’s not asleep, stands watching as she gathers herself together.

“I’d say congratulations, but you two kept me up so late with your talking, laughing, and...whatever else it was that you were doing, that I barely slept,” he says, opening the refrigerator and gathering a few items.

“Congratulations?” She scoops up the contents of her bag, letting them drop to the bottom and zipping the top.

“Ben slept in for a change,” he says, shaking his head, “He never sleeps.”

“Ben?”

Rey knows it’s a mistake the moment it leaves her mouth, but she’s disoriented, and she wasn’t looking for an interview.

He pauses.

“Yeah, Ben, the one you’re sneaking out on right now.”

_ Fuck. _

She sighs, “What are you? The walk of shame fairy?”

“No,” he says, “I like to fuck and run as much as the next person, but I know the look of someone trying too hard to be quiet.”

She glares at him.

“Oh my God, it’s a Thanksgiving miracle. You  _ are  _ the walk of shame fairy,” she says, deadpan.

He huffs a laugh at her, amused.

“You know, Ben’s a good guy. I bet if you walked back there right now and crawled back in bed, you could pretend that you never left.”

She grabs her coat, watching his back as he prepares his breakfast, scooping coffee into one of the hipster single pour filters. It looks like a sock on a jewelry stand.

“It was nice meeting you, whatever-your-name-is.”

She doesn’t hear his reaction as she slips out the door and stomps down the stairs.

Throwing her jacket on, she opens the door to the apartment building with a push and steps out onto the street.

As her sweater rises up, the cold hair swirls underneath her sweater and her frozen nipples remind her of her favorite bra abandoned in the apartment upstairs.

She can’t go back. 

He was right. The roommate. 

The ginger morning-after fairy.

She’d wanted to stay.

Rey glances around at the empty streets and sees the wind whip the remaining bits of snow from the ground in front of her.

She traded the warmth of that bed to walk alone in the cold and back to her empty apartment.

And she cares because today, everyone thinks that you need to be with someone special to make it real.

She really hates Thanksgiving.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ben wakes to the sound of Hux in their kitchen, singing and banging around. His head is pounding as if his heartbeat has migrated behind his forehead in the middle of the night.

His eyes closed, he reaches forward, feeling the cold, exposed sheets.

He jolts awake, looking around the room for the girl.

_ Rey. _

He whispered it enough in her ear, repeating it over and over as he peeled her jeans off, running his fingers down to cup her ass. 

She had laughed at him.

_ “Shut it and fuck me already.” _

He moves under the weight of the comforter, moving his foot before it catches on something.

Pushing the sheets back, he pulls the strap of a black bra. He tugs until the elastic bounces back and releases, flying above his head to hit the headboard.

Ben looks at the lace cups, smiling as he remembers how she looked down at him as she had removed it, her legs snuggly straddling his hips. 

He looks around at his bedroom, hoping to see a glimpse of her things alongside his own.

His hopes must be high as he listens for the shower running, or any noise other than his roommate.

He pulls on a shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, looking back at the pillow and wondering if it still smells like her shampoo. Something floral.

For a moment, he nearly dives back in to inhale her one more time before she disappears, but thinks better of it.

Armie is sitting down at the small kitchenette table, eyeing him as he silently walks into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Benny,” he says, his eyebrows raised, “Saw your tasty midnight snack head out this morning.”

Armie stuffs the last blueberry in his mouth, snapping his mouth shut with a grin. Ben turns sharply before returning to his coffee.

“Yeah, I think she had to head out early to catch her train to see family,” he says, sliding a few slices of bread in the toaster.

“Oh, fuck, Ben,” he says. Ben can practically hear him roll his eyes. “She was at the door with her pants around her ankles nearly killing herself to get out.”

_ Ouch. _

He winces, but imagines the girl, Rey, with her pants around her ankles. 

Ben smiles, thinking of the souvenir on his bed. He can’t help imagining her braless in her little sweater, out braving the cold.

“I figured. She forgot her bra,” he says with a chuckle. He takes a sip of his coffee.

Hux looks back at him, his mouth in a thin line. It quickly turns into a frown.

“God, the noise from you two, did you at least have fun?”

Ben takes a large bite of toast, chewing and keeping his mouth shut. One of Armie’s joys in life lies in details, and even if it isn’t for long, Ben takes pleasure in withholding what he can.

“Did she have fun?”

Ben shrugs, taking another bite and smiling with closed lips.

“Did you get her number?”

It takes long enough for the shadow to cross his face, and his friend leans forward.

Ben swallows, “No, I wish I had.”

Armie stands, clearing his dishes from the table to rest in the sink.

“But, hey, it probably doesn’t matter, remember? She was desperate to get out of here,” Ben says.

Armie holds up a finger to stop him, “I didn’t say desperate. Well, no, she was desperate.” Ben groans and mutters a  _ thanks.  _ “No, no. She was desperate, but I don’t think she wanted to leave.”

Ben looks back at him, at the apologetic look on his face. He’s known him since college. Ever since Ben’s breakup with his last girlfriend and the awkwardness with his family, Armie’s been determined to watch out for Ben.

It was annoying, but Ben knew better than to argue. Armie had been a good friend, encouraging him to go on dates, even setting him up with a few people.

He practically installed Tinder on Ben’s phone one evening before telling Ben that he was boring and wasn’t likely to attract a decent hookup.

Ben’s not a fucking bore. He just took that extra energy and focused it on work. He  _ had  _ been on a few dates, even brought a few home, but he wasn’t looking for anything serious.

He met Rey in a weak moment and found himself surprised.

She was beautiful, funny, and a little rough around the edges. He would have gladly made her breakfast this morning, but she slipped out, and it was okay.

The universe had surprised him, but he wasn’t disappointed. If anything, maybe he was prepared to throw his energy into someone else.

Although throwing it into her would have been nice.

He glances up at Armie wearing a mildly horrified expression on his face as if Ben had performed a monologue of his thoughts just now.

“Come with me,” Armie says, throwing the dish towel down.

“What,” he says, his mouth full of whole wheat and peanut butter.

“Come with me today. To dinner,” Armie says, his arms crossed. The lines of his brow gather, staring at Ben. “Some guy I’ve seen a few times invited me when he found out that I couldn’t go back to see my family. It’s some tradition for him and some friends.” He waves it off. “They call it Lonely Thanksgiving, or Thanksgiving for Strays. I don’t know.” He walks forward to stand beside Ben. “All that matters is that it’s single people, drinking, food, and you won’t sit here looking like...that,” he says, pointing to Ben’s face.

Ben looks at Armie, considering his day at a stranger’s table.

  
  
  
  


“No.”

  
  



	2. Don’t Spoil Your Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags, chapter count up, because I’m splitting the POV. 
> 
> I’ve challenged myself to write and edit this within a few days, so my thanks in advance for any editing errors.

Rey stands in front of her bathroom mirror eyeing her button up shirt. She tucks and untucks it into the high waist of her jeans a few times. She turns to the side, tries a partial untuck in the front.

It’s the damn bra.

It’s not the right one, and she could kick herself for going out the night before Thanksgiving to a bar she wasn’t familiar with and going home with a stranger, losing her favorite bra to one of the dusty corners of his apartment.

She shrugs, pulling open the buttons and yanking the shirt off to toss it on the floor.

Actually, his apartment had been surprisingly neat and cozy. He was likely the type to make or pick up breakfast. 

He seemed that way.

Rey grabs a fitted sweater with a cowl neck.

_ Perfect. _

It had just the right amount of “I’m-festive-so-just-fuck-off” that she was looking for in an outfit. She wasn’t there to impress. It was all of her friends plus a few people needing a home for the holiday. That was the point.

It had started in college, and over the years, she realized that it was the only holiday tradition that she’d ever held consistently. Sometimes she wonders if her friends ever have other options, but either way, they are there every year.

She puts some lip gloss on to finish and grabs her things to go.

Poe doesn’t live far away from her place on Southport. Rey favors the thirty minute walk this morning over any interactions on the train. Despite the fact that she herself is heading to a party, she’d like to avoid the families balancing their culinary offerings, the children screeching, and any additional holiday gladness.

She laughs.

_ Scrooge came early this year. _

And for that, she walks.

By the time she reaches Poe’s apartment, her frustrations have melted and cooled under the cold temperature and fire in her veins. She’s ready for something spiked and food in miniature.

She approaches Poe’s place and can already see the lights and movement of backsides through the window. She catches the front door to the building with its shoddy latch and opens it up, hearing the rumble of laughter contained within the old walls.

She opens the door to his apartment, hearing Poe’s laugh and the voice of someone who is clearly entertaining the group with a story.

She loves that sound.

It’s like rain on a window, the rumble of tracks when you’re heading home after a long day, or the long silence after the first snowfall of the year.

People, her people, having a good time, their laughter with all of its different tones and patterns.

She hears Finn interject, Rose in agreement. Someone that doesn’t sound totally unfamiliar.

There’s Poe again.

She pulls off her things, peeling off her many layers. She can see the view of her friends listening, the other part of the group obscured by the doorway.

“No, no. Let me tell you about this. He wasn’t smart enough to be awake.”

Rey feels her spine stack and straighten up at the sound of that voice.

She walks forward, catching Rose’s eye. She motions for Rey to come quickly, but Rey is moving through honey.

“I’d prefer you not say anything.”

It’s a rich baritone, one she definitely recognizes, because she hasn’t been away from it for that long.

“No, you kept me up banging around, unable to navigate the lit hallway. I can tell them that I nearly scared her out of her pants while she was trying to leave.”

A small roar follows, and Rey feels herself float toward the kitchen. She’d like to stop and run, thank you very much, but the real curiosity, the disbelief moves her forward.

Rose looks her way, dragging the attention away from the others, “Rey!”

As she enters the kitchen every head turns toward her to reveal the faces of her friends and two other people that are supposed to be strangers.

“Hux, this is Rey. Rey, my friend, Hux,” Poe says, gesturing to the two men.

One ginger, one dark.

One smirking, the other with eyes wide.

_ Ohfuckityfuckfuck. _

The ginger steps forward, grabbing Rey’s hand and shaking it firmly. Her arm wobbles like jello as she catches Ben out of the corner of her eye turning to face away from the group and taking a large swig of his beer.

“Armitage Hux,” he says, grinning as if he’s just stumbled upon a new game, “People call me Hux, but some of my more intimate acquaintances get to call me Armie.”

He eyes Rey with a knowing smile, causing Poe to raise his eyebrow in question.

“Is that so,” Poe asks, the corner of his mouth curling up in a grin.

The two eye each of with very obvious fuck-me eyes, and Rey turns to  _ him _ , to Ben, assessing her next move.

He doesn’t allow her to flail in the circle of her friends. He takes her hand, folding it in his large, warm one and smiles.

“Hi, I’m Ben,” he says, under the glances of the other members of their party.

“Rey,” she says, returning the smile and letting him lead the way as her hand rocks up and down, cradled there in the handshake.

She’s not really sure where or when to end it, only that it’s not unlike last night or this morning, when the promise of his presence for a few hours wasn’t enough. She’s nervous as hell, but she may actually be glad to see him again.

“Rey, let me get that for you,” Finn says, reaching for the pie that she’s carrying sideways.

She breaks from Ben, turning to greet and hug her friends.

“Don’t worry,” she says, “It’s store bought, probably not worth the effort to save it.”

Finn and Rose step in to embrace her, their arms wrapped around her with sympathetic smiles.

“Happy Thanksgiving, little pumpkin,” Finn says.

She feigns disgust at their attention, wiping off their touch and stepping away from their attention with a wide smile.

She’s facing away from Ben, but she can feel his eyes on her as she converses with her friends. The thought makes her spine tingle with that awareness and her mind struggles to stay engaged in the conversation.

_ Finn hates work right now. People are a nightmare. He’s ready for the holiday. _

_ Rose just wishes he would take a vacation before he gets burned out. _

_ Rose is excited that Finn cleared out a drawer in his apartment for her to keep her things. _

Rey keeps up, sipping the glass of wine that Finn shoved in her face. She wishes it were beer, but the day is young.

_ Finn is sure that he’ll get that promotion by Christmas. He’s made a good impression. _

She catches him over by the spread of finger foods.

If he stays long enough, she could approach him, casually pile her plate. 

_ Ooh, looks like Poe bought prosciutto. _

Maybe smile apologetically and tell him that she’s not a terrible person while she stuffs her face with prosciutto and definitely not answer any questions about why she ran so hard and fast away from his apartment.

_ Finn thinks Rose is pretty cute when she talks passionately about her internship. _

_ Rose is moving out, and Rey will need to find a new roommate by tomorrow. _

“Huh,” Rey asks, looking at her friends as they beam and try to stifle laughter.

“I knew you weren't listening,” Rose says.

Rey flushes a bit. It’s her friends, they know her, but she’s silently praying that they haven't noticed the direction that she keeps looking.

“We get it, you’re hungry,” Finn says, laughing and motioning to the table. “I’m going to go open another bottle,” he says, pointing to his glass, “Rose?” She nods.

Finn walks toward the table laden with more alcohol than is necessary for a small party of eight.

“I know where you’re  _ really  _ looking,” Rose says, whispering in only the way someone two mimosas deep can. “He’s interesting, huh,” she adds.

Rey shrugs, eyeing Ben as he chats with Finn and Poe. He seems friendly, if a little pensive at times. She realizes that she’s viewing him much like last night, but with a clearer head and a less poorly lit room. He talks to them with ease, and she’s eager to get a little closer to see what they’re saying. It’s possible that her friends now have more information about him than she possesses, even though she knows the color of his bed sheets.

She frowns.

_ Scratch that. _

She doesn’t know the color per se, but she knows that they were comfortable.

Even that realization bothers her to admit.

Strike one.

“I think his roommate is the guy that Poe’s been  _ seeing _ ,” she says, marking the last word with air quotes. “I’m just glad we learned his full name though,” she says, “I thought it was weird, until I saw him standing in front of me, and it all just came together, you know? Of course that guy is an Armitage.”

Rey nods, glancing back and forth between her friend and the other side of the room.

She doesn’t know this guy. Any other one night stand would end with her offering the awkward story to her friends at dinner. She’d drink her wine or some new craft beer that Poe wanted her to try and tell the table about her dramatic escape out, the run-in with the roommate, and ending the tale with her walking home and mourning the only truly sexy lingerie she owns. 

No one expects the subject of their next party story to show up to the party.

But, she knows it’s more than that, it’s not just that someone showed up, but that  _ he  _ showed up. 

And the alcohol had not lied to her last night. 

Tall frame, dark hair, and broad chest.

By the looks of him, he had seemed an unstoppable force, strong and menacing. The sharp angles of his face and the dark, brooding way he had studied her as she eyed him from the bar. The angles had changed, the edges blurred as she had approached him, offering to let  _ him _ buy her a drink.

He had chuckled, surprised and confused by the line.

It was clear that he was charmed, but wanting to keep his cool, he had slowly sipped his beer with his eyes on her from sip to release.

She was turned on, okay? 

Standing there, knowing that he was into it, into her, had made her feel like a goddess, even amongst the sticky floor and loud chatter of that guy in the corner telling someone about how he used to brew craft beer in his studio apartment.

He bought her a drink, then another. 

She had leaned forward to kiss him while they waited on another, and then he had grabbed the tab before the liquid hit the glass and asked if he could take her home.

“You should talk to him,” Rose says.

_ Pay attention, Rey. _

She sips and shakes her head.

“To the ginger?”

Rose grabs her shoulder with a gentle shove, turning into her with a whisper, “No, the tall one.  _ Ben.” _

Rey makes a face, twisting and turning her mouth. She can’t commit her expression to disgust. She can’t let on that she’s already thinking about Ben, met Ben, but she also can't imagine Rose thinking that Ben is anything close to disgusting.

Strike two.

Jannah and Kaydel join the party, arms weighted down with bottles of liquor, a bag of ice, and another pie. They make their rounds with hugs and introductions. Rey looks on, making her way to the finger foods to pile her plate and maybe disappear like a ghost into the wall.

“Hello.”

Rey nearly throws her plate into the face of Ben’s roommate.

“Oh, uh, hello,” she says as he smiles down at her, one arm folded across his chest. His hand is resting in the crook of his other arm, supporting the hand holding his wine. He sips his beverage from a tiny pout in his mouth that makes him look worthy of a good punch.

“Are you in hell right now,” he asks, his voice low and his expression thrilled.

“Not really,” she replies.

She’s not. Really.

“I’m disappointed that you didn’t stay, so was Ben,” he says, nodding towards his roommate.

“He was,” she asks, hoping to reign in the sound of childlike hope in her voice.

“Don’t worry. I told him your ass looked acceptable in the light. Maybe even better than it did behind a drunken haze.”

Rey cringes and rolls her eyes at him. She would tell him to fuck off, but he seems to be looking out for his roommate.

His friend.

Rey snuck out the door to avoid having a conversation, and he’s gleefully calling her out on her shit.

Like a good friend.

“Hux, right,” she asks, not waiting for a reply, “You’re a good friend,” she says. She walks away from him, past Ben and the rest of the group to the bathroom, shutting herself in and trying not to crumple behind the door.

She turns the faucet on, debating on warm or the painful sting of ice cold to jolt her out of whatever fog she feels settling. It’s easy enough to blame it on Ben’s sudden reappearance, but she’s been in this state before she met Ben. 

She really hates the holidays. 

It’s really not fair to Thanksgiving. 

Thanksgiving is the kinder of the holidays, because at least she has the dedicated circle of friends to surround her on this day. Christmas and New Year seem like a toss up, and she either spends them alone, on a blind date, or being shuffled between her friend’s families like she’s a kid with a terrible joint custody arrangement.

She doesn’t always mind it when she’s alone. 

For years, school or her internship had been hectic. She usually juggled a retail job, and hey, nothing spreads holiday cheer like telling a customer that she can’t return that outfit that she bought a year ago for store credit while an angry line of Christmas Eve shoppers extends out the door. 

She had enough to keep her occupied, so when the holidays came, she could pop over to Poe’s for brunch before he headed to see his parents. Then she was free to head back home while visions of Chinese takeout and movies and the rest of the chocolate crescents Poe sent with her danced through her head.

But, then life slowed down a little bit.

One by one, her and her friend’s lives started to take shape. Her internship was over, school was over, and she was offered a job. She now needed a new wardrobe for work and work events. She was attending company parties and helping to celebrate the milestones of her friends. Somehow having the life she wanted was starting to seem more lonely, and for the first time since she was a kid, she felt the absence of having a place that accepted her without an invitation.

She should have been happy yesterday knowing that the holiday was near, that she wouldn’t be working retail this Christmas, and that she would be surrounded by her friends, but instead, she could only see the holidays lining up in an endless succession of shuffling to figure out where she was supposed to exist.

So, Rey stepped outside of her apartment last night and hurled caution to the wind coming off of Lake Michigan and headed out to a bar that promised drinks and arcade games. She figured if she didn’t have company, she could at least drink and obsess over a pinball machine.

And then she met Ben.

Rey stares at the faucet and then to her face in the mirror. She frowns.

She wasn’t expecting anything to happen, but he had been funny, maybe awkward, and he said and did little things that may seem insignificant to anyone else, but were endearing and sweet to Rey.

She fusses with her appearance thinking about the way he had let his hands rake through her hair and the way he had cradled her head with one hand. She shivers.

The way it felt having him wrapped around her this morning had been a revelation, as if he had always known how to fit himself to shelter her there. His kiss still lingered a bit from last night. First, a little bruising as they fumbled and tried and fell on the way up the stairs before making it to the bed, but then soft and attentive as he hovered above her and showered her with drunken words of praise.

She knew better than to trust the things said in those moments, but they haunted her as she travelled home this morning.

_ You’re so pretty. _

_ I can’t believe I finally get to see those tits. _

_ I’ve been hard since you made me buy you a drink. _

_ Your pussy feels amazing. _

_ I can’t believe I can touch you like this. _

_ I can’t believe you’re real. _

_ I can’t believe I met you. _

She blushes right there in the bathroom, like a fool. 

The first few things had been easy to accept with a laugh or a kiss in return, but everything that followed had been accepted with her eyes closed as each phrase echoed in her brain over and over again with each touch.

And God help her if she thinks about the orgasm that followed.

_ Definitely cold water. _

She decides that her face can handle a little light torture and splashes a generous amount, stifling a sharp gasp.

She turns off the sink, wiping her hands on the neatly folded towels in Poe’s neatly organized bathroom.

She places her hand on the doorknob turning it quickly in fierce determination to go and enjoy the rest of the day without incident or thought of last night.

She exits, and finds Ben hovering nearby.

“Oh, uh, hey uh, hi, hello,” she slows herself, sucking in air,

“Hey, Ben.”

He comes in close, leaning in and lowering his voice, “Do I need to leave?”

“What?”

He’s searching her face, and damn, he just looks good.

“Wha-,” she shakes her head, leaning away from him. “What do you mean?”

He glances back down the small hall where they are tucked out of sight of the others.

He leans in closer, and he smells so good.

_ Stay on target, Rey. _

“Hey, we’re adults,” he says, running a hand through his hair and casting eyes at her feet, then her face, “Last night was obviously weird or not a good experience, or something.” He shrugs, looking past her. “This is obviously a thing with your friends, so I can leave. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Oh. No. Oh my god, no,” she says.

“It’s okay, really,” he says. His brow furrows, and he pulls his mouth in a thin line of deep thought. “Last night obviously wasn’t supposed to continue into anything beyond that, so, I’m sure you weren’t planning on spending your holiday with someone you’d rather forget.”

_ Ouch. _

_ Ouch. _

Yeah, that sentence just deserved two.

“Sorry, that came out...not in the way that I intended,” he says.

“Do you have somewhere to go today, Ben,” she asks, looking up into bright, brown eyes.

He places his hands in his pockets, his face taking on a lighter look, a thought, maybe a joke she’s not privy to flashing across his face.

“I currently have an apartment that’s empty for a change, and a roommate that looks as if he may not be back until tomorrow,” he says, shrugging.

“You should stay,” she says, “If you leave, don’t let it be because of me.” She sighs and turns to walk away. “You shouldn’t be alone today,” she says, wincing, “Or, you should definitely take advantage of the free food and drink, verbal abuse over card games, or shouldn’t miss out on Poe singing Mariah Carey.”

He laughs, “Mariah Carey?”

She chuckles along with him. “Yeah, he loves that damn Christmas album. His version of ‘O Holy Night’ will make you cry.”

“Because it’s so moving?”

“No,” she says, laughing.

She turns, feeling her body resist moving away from him.

“I’ll see you in there,” she says, giving him a thumbs up sign.

_ Good job, Rey. _

She motions behind her, hoping to make herself less awkward, clenching her fist when it doesn’t quite work.

She goes, returning to her glass of wine, hoping that he’s watching her as she leaves.

She steals a quick glance back to find him definitely watching, disappointed to find that she cares.

Strike Three.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what Ben has to say...


	3. Hey, let's watch the parade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! Happy Thursday to anyone not celebrating, but you're here anyway, so welcome!
> 
> Mind the tags and especially the notes from the first chapter regarding holiday/family bullshit. There are brief mentions of loss, grieving.

Okay, fine, he’s a little hurt.

He genuinely wanted to let her know that he was fine to leave.

He’s fine.

He wasn’t planning on being here today. He has no one to disappoint here.

He complained to Armie as they had taken the train, on the walk from the station, and even as they waited for Armie’s friend to answer the door, but then there was light jazz playing in the background, a spread on the table, and muffled laughter waiting behind Poe as he greeted them.

Why did it all have to be so fucking inviting?

Poe is nice, and he and Armie seem to be more interested in each other than his friend had previously let on. That couple, Rose and Finn, seem to be pretty friendly as well. He even handled a bit of embarrassment from Armie in exchange for a few moments of feeling like he already belonged to these people, letting them share in his humiliation of a failed hookup.

But, dammit, then she walked in the door, her eyes wide and mouth open in shock.

Any normal human being would have immediately recognized her discomfort, but Ben could only see her face as he thrust his fingers inside of her, her mouth opening for him as he shoved his tongue in her mouth. 

Fuck, he was so clumsy. 

No wonder she took off.

He keeps telling himself that it was a bit of fun. 

If he focuses enough energy on the thought, he can even make it completely meaningless. It was fun, sexy as hell, and she was just some girl. 

Some girl who didn’t have the courtesy to say, “Thanks. Don’t call me.”

Despite how she left his bed, he can’t help watch her as she greets her friends, makes her way around the room in a large circle to avoid him. He sees her frowning at him like an intruder as she barely pays attention to her friends.

Yes, he’s a little hurt.

And annoyed. 

He didn’t ask to be here. He didn’t seek her out.

He would have been happy to have been home. 

She likely just wanted to be here with her family.

_ This is likely her family _ .

_ Asshole, this is her family. _

The realization hits Ben deep in the pit of his stomach. She’s here celebrating by choice.

Unlike him. 

When she made a quick break from the room, Ben made a decision.

Positioning himself to watch the door, he slowly worked his way around the room until he landed close. Like a creep. Like a creepy, jilted lover.

By the time he had gone through the motions of looking at the books casually displayed on the side tables or the small vinyl collection, she had stormed out of the bathroom out of breath.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright when she stopped in front of him.

He wanted to let her have an out, but then she had been kind enough to let him in, and he’s taken right back to the bar, swept up in her orbit all over again. The curve of her hips, swaying and walking with such determination to approach him, full of fire, and then she’d made him nearly spit out his beer at her introduction. 

Hell yeah, he’s looking now as she glances at him and makes her way back to the party.

Ben follows, nursing the same beer and taking a seat with the others.

“I read a great article about the American Thanksgiving tradition, and I hate to make waves, but it sounds a bit like bullshit to me,” Armie says.

“Which one? There was an interesting one that Jannah sent me from the Smithsonian website,” Kaydel asks, “I keep meaning to add the book that it referenced to my list.”

“Teen Vogue.”

There are a few laughs, including a near smile from Rey.

“What,” he asks, “I’ll have you know that Teen Vogue has had some exceptional articles in recent years.”

Ben chimes in, “You’re right. Thanksgiving is bullshit.”

It leaves his mouth, and he instantly regrets the way he’s opened himself up to the room.

Armie commands everyone’s attention again, his hands folded on his lap.

“See, an American agrees with me,” he says, motioning to Ben.

Poe places his hand on Armie’s back, a gesture that gives Ben a clearer picture of these two, their positions turned toward each other on the couch. He smiles in private approval.

“Thanksgiving in its origins is definitely bullshit, but today it’s about being grateful for every good thing that we have,” Poe says.

“No,” Kaydel chimes in, “It’s about being grateful for not having to be with shitty family members.”

“No,” Rose says, “That’s Orphan Thanksgiving.”

Ben watches the group of friends chime in agreement with a few chuckles, nods, and a raise of a glass.

Armie slouches slightly, leaning forward.

“But, why  _ Orphan  _ Thanksgiving,” he asks. “It sounds so fucking dismal.”

“I’ll explain,” Finn says, sitting closer to the edge of his seat. “Orphan Thanksgiving is an age old tradition where people leave the homes from which they were raised and seek out ones with nice people and significantly more alcohol.”

“It costs way too much to travel home twice in such a short period of time, so I only go home at Christmas,” Rose says. “I see my chosen family for Thanksgiving and my parents at Christmas.” She chews her bottom lip, an uncomfortable pause hanging in the air between the knowing smiles of those in their circle. “Honestly, I love my parents, but since my sister’s passing, it’s nice to have one holiday where I feel like I’m not spending it in mourning.”

“Fuck,” Armie blurts out. Ben cringes at his friend’s reaction, but Rose actually smiles, her face appearing relieved.

“Fuck is right,” she replies, taking a sip of wine.

Everyone raises their hand as Finn goes around the room, each person claiming a grievance or reason for choosing this Thanksgiving above all others.

“We’ve got homophobia and political warfare over turkey,” he says. “Oh, we’ve got an  _ actual  _ orphan with a side of gravy,” he points to Rey, who nods and glances at Ben, turning her face back to the bottom of her glass when he meets her eyes. “Financial stress, grief, and then once it began, we just couldn’t stop.”

“Yes,” Rey says, “Orphaned by parents? Family with their good intentions who strip you of your dignity?”

“Have you lost a lover,” Poe asks.

“Well, look no further,” Rose says, her arms spread wide in a way that Ben is sure mirrors any portrait of a saint. The light from the room and wine has even offered her a slight glow.

“Orphan Thanksgiving welcomes you,” Finn says.

Ben shifts nervously in the chair. He’s hoping at this moment that their curiosity doesn’t extend to him. He looks up, catching Rey watching in the corner of his eye. 

“And while your story is not necessary, once you’ve had a few, we welcome your story over dinner,” Rose says, “Sometimes, it helps when we can all commiserate together.”

Finn pulls her into his side, his arm wrapping her in a small hug.

“Well, that is actually very sweet, and I hate how difficult you’ve all made it for me to make fun of you...or dislike you,” Armie says.

There’s a chorus of chuckles and laughter from the room as the energy in the room shifts. Poe grabs Jannah and Rose to assist him in the kitchen, but then everyone joins in to place platters, uncover the food, and before he knows it, they’re all sitting down for Ben’s first Thanksgiving in quite some time. 

Years.

His story isn’t that different from those around the table. It’s not entirely unusual. Ben’s seems to be a hodgepodge of answers from around the room.

Dead Dad.

Estranged family.

Difficult uncle.

The feeling of not being seen.

But, this.

Sitting at the table with these strangers, including Armie. Even Rey.

He doesn't feel the crushing anxiety that he expects to find underneath his ribs. There’s something precious about a group of people letting you in without knowing your name. He revels in it, but already wishes it were less complicated, that maybe he could keep it a little longer.

“Rey, you never did get to tell me how  _ your  _ night went last night.”

Ben nearly loses his fork to gravy as he catches the words leaving Rose’s mouth. Several heads turn toward Rey, including Ben, catching her face flush. She swallows and covers her mouth. The pause hanging between the question and the removal of her fingers from her lips drags on as Ben waits to hear about his own evening in front of the entire group.

“Um,” she says, swallowing again and holding a finger up to Rose. She takes her time, she drags it out, or at least, that’s how it feels to Ben.

“It was fine,” she says, twisting her face and adding, “It was good.”

Ben is sure that his hand still rests at his plate with an invisible fork in hand, but he stays completely still watching Rey push around the food on her plate.

“No, no way,” Finn says, “I couldn’t sleep, because of the incessant texts you sent Rose about that guy.”

Ben imagines that this is the face that Rey made when she snuck out this morning, because she definitely looks like she would rather die than be trapped at this table right now.

More heads begin to turn, their attention beginning to focus on Rey and her mystery date.

“Yeah, I think the last text she sent was about needing to borrow hiking boots, because she was about to go climbing,” Rose says, giggling and leaning into a clearly embarrassed Rey.

The collective laugh from the rest of the table begins to fade as Ben’s eyes narrow in on Rey. 

Every breath, every gesture becomes part of his study of her as he tries to assess every move that she makes.

“Oh god, did I say that,” she responds, slapping a palm to her forehead.

“Yes, do you need me to pull up everything you sent,” Rose asks.

All at once the table is overcome with curiosity, cries to give Rey a break, and Rey, obviously feeling tortured. Ben knows that if it wasn’t for him, she’d likely be in the middle of this story of her own volition by now. He wants to keep her from feeling any more embarrassment. 

But, he is dying to know more.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says in the midst of other voices. She glances up at him.

Ben takes a sip of his beer, watching her over the label of the bottle.

“I had a bit of an interesting evening myself last night, not everything works out,” he says, with a shrug. 

Rose looks between Rey and Ben, nodding along with his words, “Yeah, but I’m pretty disappointed, because you seemed pretty enamored with this guy.”

_ Enamored? _

“Enamored,” Poe asks.

“He was tall, dark, and handsome.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sexy, even.”

“Sexy?”

Ben watches the friends bounce back and forth between each other, answering and asking like a well run comedy gag.

“Oh yeah, geez, how long did you text me about him before actually talking to him, and then silence and  _ then _ you were texting me from his bathroom talking about the softest, poutiest lips.” Rose pouts her lips, punctuating the information with a fish face.

It would be funny. A gentle poking from her nearest and dearest. Again, a story she’d own if it weren’t for Ben sitting there to witness this.

“Tell us, Rey, did you ever get to go on that hike,” Armie asks, a smirk on his face.

_ Fucking Armie. _

“Oh god, why,” she rubs the sides of her temples.

“Fine, fine,” Finn says, “We’ll leave you alone.  _ For now. _ ”

“Thank you,” she says, taking a gulp of wine.

“Besides, we have Ben to give us his story instead,” he adds.

Rey looks up again, “No, can we talk about literally  _ anything  _ else?”

“No,” Armie says to her, turning to look at Ben, “He’s my roommate, and I’m curious, too.”

Ben takes another sip, feeling the eyes of the room on him, but more importantly, Rey’s eyes.

He  _ was _ a little hurt.

Now, he’s mulling this precarious situation over along with the words that are stuck in his head.

_ Enamored. _

_ Handsome. _

_ Sexy. _

It seems ridiculous to attempt to woo a girl that ran from your bed less than twelve hours ago, but he has nothing to lose. 

He looks to the faces around the table, but his eyes ultimately land on Rey, speaking directly to her.

“Honestly, I’m a little bummed that she didn’t stay this morning,” he says.

She swallows, her eyes cast down with something that looks like shame. And Ben doesn’t like that. He’s not interested in causing her shame, only being honest.

“I may be reaching a bit, maybe it was the alcohol, but I barely had a few sips before she walked up to me last night. She was funny and beautiful.”

She’s staring at her plate, and he can see the way her brows lift and furrow, deep in thought over every word that leaves his mouth.

“Yes, you were both hilarious as you kept cackling like sea witches, stomping down the hall, dropping shoes,” Armie says, “Maybe you fumbled too much, Benny, you know, made a bad impression?” A few eyes glance his way, trying to assess the level of taunting passing between these two friends, but Ben’s eyes focus on Rey.

His head turned when Armie spoke, catching her face as he suggested that he was basically an idiot in bed. She had prickled at that, and  _ fuck _ , if that doesn’t make him wonder.

“I may have been,” he says, a little half shrug, “I think I may have been a little rushed. I just wanted to keep kissing her.”

She smiles at her dressing and gravy, and he feels a little swell of pleasure in his chest at the way her lip curls in to tuck under the top row of her teeth.

“Aww, Benny, you’re such a romantic.”

“No, I’m not. Not really. Just bummed that I didn’t get to make her breakfast.”

There’s a collective sigh from the group, and Rey shoves a large bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth, completely avoiding Ben’s eyes.

He’s particularly fond of the shade of pink on her cheeks.

“I don’t know whether to feel warm and fuzzy or depressed,” Armie says, garnering a generous laugh from Ben. The rest of the group resumes the chatter about the meal, their own hookup stories, or referencing some inside joke that Ben doesn’t get.

Ben reaches for his fork, catching Rey as she stops and looks at him.

He has no idea what she’s thinking, but he figures he’s said enough. He’s diverted everyone’s attention for the time being, and at some point, maybe she will tell her friends more details, or maybe that it was Ben all along. Hopefully, they’ll know that he was fond of their friend. 

Maybe it’ll be a story they share at their next holiday together around the table, another orphan to entertain.

_ Do you remember Ben? _

_ The one that came to Thanksgiving? _

_ Thank God, he wasn’t an ass.  _

_ Yeah, he and Rey met the night before. We didn’t know until later. _

He smiles at Rey, a small nod. He takes his fill of her hazel eyes, the way her freckles dust her nose and cheeks. He smiles just a little bit harder, pulling her to him for just a moment longer before letting her go.

He returns to his plate, taking hearty bites of everything on it.

“What would you have made for breakfast?”

Ben looks up at the sound of her voice.

He presses his lips together, looking at her eyes cast down at her plate.

“Hm, good question.” 

He stops, rubbing his bottom lip, feigning a bit of thought. There’s no thought necessary. He actually knows what he’d make. He thought about it before he drifted off, pressed up against her soft, naked body. 

“Pancakes.”

She squints at her plate a bit, chewing on her bottom lip. All of that through a smile. A little flicker.

She pauses and whispers,

“ _ Damn. _ ”

He nods.

“Yeah,  _ maybe  _ even homemade.”

She nods in return, a slow pull of her bottom lip between teeth.

And just as soon as he’d let her go, she reels him in all over again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this year comes with additional hardship, but I hope that wherever you are today that you are surrounded by people that love you, see you, and support you.
> 
> And if you're not, know that you are valued, wonderful, smart, beautiful, and a great big ocean full of incredible. My first orphan Thanksgiving came at a time when I simply could not afford to get home for the holidays. My reasons changed over the years, the Thanksgiving get togethers morphed as our lives continued in different cities and countries, but I still make sure that I keep myself wrapped in good people. I haven't always felt accepted or seen, but my percentage of seen and heard keeps rising.
> 
> And just know, that being able to express myself in fic, you have been a part of that.
> 
> Also, kudos to Teen Vogue, which I don't know much about, except that they have come a LONG way from when I read it. Complete with socially aware articles, and they have been awarded. Seriously. I was shocked.
> 
> And you should definitely, read about the Mashpee Wampanoag people when you have a chance. 
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments and kudos. I'm so glad that you're having fun, too!
> 
> I hope you are safe, healthy, and eating the best fucking food ever.
> 
> Also, the last part is called: Black Friday 😉😉😉


	4. Party Games & Black Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the final part! I was hoping to have this updated on Friday, but life.
> 
> Please read the tags. Nothing new, but...maybe remind yourself of what they say, if necessary.

_ Fucking pancakes. _

Well, she had been right. He  _ was  _ the type to make breakfast.

Probably would have held her, even after he was awake.

Can two play this game?

Because not long ago she was watching herself float away from the table, waving goodbye to those she loved most, having died from embarrassment.

Now she’s pretty sure she’s trying not to mentally masturbate in front of the table of friends and the goddamn turkey. 

And her wine is empty.

Fuck, if he didn’t just make this more difficult.

_ I think I may have been rushed. _

_ Just wanted to keep kissing her. _

Rey tries not to linger too long on the details in full view of the party, but he  _ had _ been rushed. 

They  _ both _ had. 

But, there was nothing more sexy than the way they stumbled and fell all over each other, so incredibly hungry. So eager to have it satiated by touch and pull. 

And knowing that maybe he’s thinking of those same things, that he wanted it to go on.

The urge to smack her palm to her forehead is strong.

She feels the heat on her face and listens to the chatter and ringing clink of glasses, forks scraping on plates.

She knows, just knows that Ben is watching.

She looks up and frowns, his eyes on Jannah as she talks about her work with the agency.

Rey sits, twisting her lips as she focuses on the small lines taking shape on his face as he smiles. His lips are forming words that she can barely hear over this weird rush of blood and the pulse of fire flooding towards her heart.

She feels herself growing impatient, the wine making the moments stretch into years. He’s not looking, so she decides to make him.

She stares.

And stares.

And stares, patiently waiting until she imagines a pull, a gentle line taking his chin and drawing him in.

“Jesus, Rey, are you drunk,” Rose whispers.

She looks at Rose who eyes her suspiciously. 

She fills her fork with an unfortunate looking yet delicious casserole and takes a large bite.

“Hm,” she asks, her mouth full.

Rose purses her mouth, smiling and shaking her head in mock disapproval.

“Uh huh, I see what you’re doing over there,” she says.

“Shut up, you ruin everything,” Rey replies, her reply muffled beneath cheese.

“Make it less obvious at least.”

“Nope, I think at this point, I should be as obvious as possible,” she says, behind her newly refreshed glass of wine.

“Well, when you start losing undergarments, don’t come crying to me.”

Rey coughs, sputtering liquid. She wipes her mouth while Rose laughs, turning to comment on another conversation.

God, if Rose only knew. 

If she only knew what was safely tucked away in Ben’s apartment right now. Or, honestly, likely in his trash.

Her finger traces the rim of her wine glass and she catches it and smiles before she even looks up, because she wants it to last. She wants the pleasure of discovery.

Ben is tracing through his food on the plate with the tines of his fork, but he’s looking.

She lifts her eyes to meet his, and the tiniest hint, a twitch, a spark. 

_ Fuck, is this happening? _

They don’t move, and the way he just looks at her is enough to make her want to bolt.

He’s not frowning, not smiling, just studying her face. She feels like he’s giving her the same challenge. 

She musters the same  _ something  _ from deep down. The same flavor of gumption from before she slammed that beer bottle onto the bar, wiping her mouth and walking his way.

She looks down biting her lip before looking back up and letting her lips curl in a crooked grin.

Rey won’t forget the way his brows knit together in confusion and his bottom lip surrenders to the invitation, taking in a large breath.

Yes, two can play.

* * *

  
  


Ben is helping clear the table, and he and Rey begin this strange dance.

Spinning, sliding dangerously close, and moving in ways that don’t add up anywhere else, only in dance.

Ben volunteers himself to clear plates, and he’s pretty sure she’s making extra trips back and forth from the table to the kitchen. She lingers. She even stops to sip her wine, never looking directly at him, but he’s sure she’s paying attention all the same.

Fuck, he’s so amused by her every look and gesture. 

He’s lost in thought scraping food until it becomes a Thanksgiving Pollock inside the waste bin. 

Is she toying with him or is she actually responding to what he’d said at dinner?

It continues as they settle in the living room with trays of cheese, pies, and a basket of card and board games. The alcohol still flows and everyone continues to gorge themselves on the ritual of gorging. The conversation moves from one thing to the next. They cover various topics: their collective frustration with construction on the El, the sexual appeal of a younger Christopher Walken with Armie as the sole participant, and various aspects of real estate. There are more than a few of them who are experts of Chicago real estate by way of Zillow, but no one in the room is in a position to buy anything they have saved.

Ben leans back, resting between Finn and Armie, his body sinking deep and relaxed into the cushions. Rey was right. Poe keeps mentioning his love for Christmas music, and it seems clear that he’s hinting for requests. The tower of cheese begins to dwindle, the empty glasses multiply, and the conversation begins to take on a murmur, little clips of laughter. Some of the stories are unfamiliar or make no sense, but Ben could happily watch this all play out in front of him with Rey right in the center.

The more he hears her talk, the more curious he becomes, and she in turn listens with vested interest anytime he interjects or responds.

They participate and chime in from time to time, nearly every word delivered back and forth between each other.

He doesn’t necessarily need to give his opinion on his ideal neighborhood or whether he has thoughts on the new initiatives at the Art Institute, but he does, like he’s divulging harmless secrets. 

To a date.

He indulges Finn and Rose when they ask him about grad school, he even let’s Armie get in a few answers on his behalf, but every word is spoken to the girl sitting across from him.

She meets his gaze when he catches her eye, and all thoughts of her kiss in the bar return to him. She seems restless, and Ben wonders if the alcohol is helping to exaggerate the way she squirms in front of him.

It may be the proximity, the day, the conversation at dinner, or maybe all of the eye contact becomes too much for Rey, because he’s pretty sure she snaps right in front of him.

“I think I’m ready to talk about last night,” Rey announces to the room.

All at once, the cushions become like bricks beneath him and he stills, his head swimming at her words.

“Ooh, story,” Kaydel says, sitting up and grabbing Rose by the shoulder.

“Did it end better than Ben’s night,” Poe asks.

She looks at Ben, pausing.

“No,” she looks down, shaking her head, “I did leave my bra there by accident.”

“Nice,” Rose says accompanied by a few chuckles.

Rey looks down at her glass, and then he watches the little flame in her eyes dance. 

And then she leaves him a little undone.

“No. I’d really like it back.”

He smiles. This is that cheeky, funny, rough and tumble that he experienced last night.

“Tough luck,” he says, his eyes and face unmoving.

She shrugs.

“Nah, I think I may be able to get it back.”

He will happily do this with her all night.

“You’re going to go marching back over there?”

“Maybe,” she says.

“Think he’ll be happy to see you,” he asks, trying so hard not to give everything away, eager for every response she has to give.

“No idea. I left kind of quickly.”

“It’s a holiday. I’m sure he gets it.”

The room has become a vacuum where the members of the party have become mere spectators in their sport.

“Nah, I didn’t exactly explain my absence.”

“Yikes,” he says, scrunching his face.

“Yeah, it was a shitty move considering…”

“Considering?”

“Well, I would have been nicer if I’d known I was going to have to go crawling back for my bra.”

A few laughs follow, and he holds steady, narrowing his eyes.

Fuck this.

He’s calling it.

“Hmm.” He folds his lips together, pressing firm.

He stands, and her eyes follow him as he walks to the kitchen, dropping his beer bottle in the bin.

“I had a great evening, thank you for having me,” he says, and Rey’s face falls. 

Several members of their party sigh and  _ aww _ as they wave to Ben, too drunk, full, and happy to notice his abrupt exit. Poe stands to pat his shoulder and thank him for coming, even inviting him to stay a little longer.

“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone,” he waves, stopping to turn to Rey, 

“Hey. I hope you get your bra back.”

And he smiles, and he’s not sure if it's successful, but he tries to wink.

He lets his feet carry him out the door, wondering if maybe he’s made a major error at this point.

But, then, he never thought he’d see her again.

And then he did.

And then…

_ Fuck, how many beers has he had? _

He walks down the sidewalk, the burst of cold hitting him as he does the math on regular courage plus liquid courage.

  
  
  


* * *

Rey watches him walk, his heavy steps echoing in the old hall as the main door slides to a close.

_ So. _

_ Well. _

She stands suddenly, and her feet walk past the coffee table full of leftover glasses and move past the tangles of legs and feet on her way to her coat and bag at the door. She’s more baby deer than gazelle at this moment.

“Rey, where are you going?”

She turns to see several pairs of eyes looking in her direction.

Rey stops, little dots of eyes collectively looking in her direction.

“I’m going to go get pancakes.”

She doesn't stay for a reaction, running to catch up.

_ Fuck. _

It’s cold.

He’s barely around the corner when she begins yelling his name as she shoves her arms through her coat, a sharp grip on the strap of her bag.

Ben turns, smiling.

She runs as he stands, waiting smugly. He’s smug.

And her wine soaked mind is putting together the conversation, how it’s all played out.

She joins him, and she’s panting and giggling from the exertion.

It’s the first moment that they can really speak freely, and she’s not really sure what she wants or needs to say right now.

Her eyes travel from the ground up, taking a lewd path from the shape of his thighs, the waist of his pants sitting at his hips, the planes of his pectoral muscles stretching a thin sweater. She’s contemplating why his jacket is even open, exposing his body, his neck to the night air. 

She finally meets his eyes.

Ben just stands and waits.

“I want you to make me pancakes,” she blurts out.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says.

He places his hands in his coat pockets, looking down at his feet. She’s sure that he’s on the same page, but she wonders how it continues from here. 

He looks away, and the soft, playful looks from before have somewhat dissipated.

“You know, I don’t go around making pancakes for just anyone. Only for people who stay over,” he says.

“Reasonable.”

“You can’t just ask for pancakes because you feel bad,” he says, “You have to really want...pancakes.”

“I wanted to stay, Ben,” she forces out.

She’s wrapping her arms around herself, the cold weather and nervous energy making her shiver.

It’s ugly, feeling this broken.

She knows that she’s not.

But, she feels it as she stands in front of him, wanting his hands and mouth on her, wanting his pancakes, wanting to know him, but afraid.

She looks up into Ben’s eyes, the sky around him a border of dark, city sky and twinkling Christmas lights from eager neighbors. 

“I was afraid if I stayed, it would only be because I was sad and because it’s a holiday,” she says.

“Rey,” he responds, a whisper of sympathy in his voice.

“Yeah?”

“Stay tonight. Don’t think about the holiday. Stay because you want to.”

She nods, “I want to.”

“Don’t run” he says, taking her hand and pulling her closer. “You can change your mind, be ready to go. But, if that’s the case, wake me up. Let me kiss you goodbye.”

Letting him hold her hand as he pulls her toward him, she can only think that there’s no chance in hell that she’ll be ready to say goodbye in the morning.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He kisses her on the train.

It’s soft and gentle, just barely touching. He can’t help it. 

They’re both quiet, and he can feel it.

This energy exists between them.

Thank God, it’s a short ride.

They approach his building, and he sees her eyes dart around.

Their pace up the stairs is slow and tortuous, the echo of winter boots bouncing off of the stairwell. Ben walks ahead of her, stepping into his apartment and opening the door for her to enter behind him. He shuts the door, leaning against it as he begins to remove his jacket, lazily tossing his boots aside, leaving a trap for whoever chooses to enter. She glances down, unzipping her coat, then with her eyes on him and tosses her boots aside. Ben watches her peel her jacket from her shoulders, and she holds it up, her face a question. He takes it, and places it on the hook behind him.

Ben’s at a loss for what to do next.

Why is he at a loss for what to do next?

He begs his nerves to take a back seat to all of that courage from before, and he leans in to kiss her.

Her body softens against his, and he wraps his arms to hold her close. 

It’s a little peck on the mouth, then one on each corner, then back to her mouth. She’s letting him hold her, and the apartment, lonely throughout the day without its occupants, is now alive with the sounds of little kisses and her small, approving sighs.

His body and mind are in a fierce battle.

The sounds that she makes, god, the fucking sounds she makes, and he’s just kissing her jawline. 

Those sounds grow, and it’s a little round of song.

One begets another.

And his mind, the part of it that hangs in the balance of being so destructive and self-loathing will tell him that it’s an effect of the alcohol, but fuck that.

She’s here, and she wasn’t supposed to ever cross that threshold ever again.

He wasn’t supposed to have this sweet music in his ears, but he does.

His excitement takes over as he lifts her into his arms, grabbing her ass as she squeaks from him hoisting her up high and walking her to his bedroom.

He’s at war, alright.

He kicks his bedroom door open, not hard enough, and he walks through, bumping her head as she leans back to look at him.

“Ouch.”

“Fuck, sorry.”

She rubs her head with the heel of her palm, chuckling at him.

He lowers her to his bed, placing his hand over the offending bump, rubbing and then lowering her hand until it rests over his heart.

He’s hoping she doesn’t read much into it.

Or feel how much it’s pounding.

Her fingers circle and draw a pattern. She closes her eyes, and then squeezes them to shut tighter. 

“Rey.”

She keeps her eyes closed, still drawing patterns, maybe words.

“Rey.” She pops one eye open.

He rolls from above her, taking a place on his back, stretched long at her side.

“In a single day, we already have a complicated history, so can you just tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.

“I don’t want tonight to be a repeat of last night.”

He frowns.

“Okay, elaborate.”

He hears the huff leave her mouth, and he stares at the ceiling, waiting for her to speak.

“I want to know you.”

“What do you want to know,” he says, resting his hands on his chest.

“Why are you alone on Thanksgiving?”

The frown that had already gathered deepens as he sorts how to explain.

“I don’t know if I’m equipped to have this conversation.”

She shifts, resting her hand over one of his own.

“Have you alienated all of the people in your life by joining a pyramid scheme?”

He takes a large breath, and slowly exhales.

“That would be a little tidier than having a dead Dad.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Ben.”

“I’m not any different than the regular guests at your Orphan Thanksgiving. Dead Dad, difficult family, not feeling seen.”

“Can I see you,” she asks, “I mean, will you let me see you?”

He turns, rolling on his side to look down at her face, soft and glowing under the lamp in the corner of the room.

“Are you really an orphan,” he asks, trying to impart every bit of sympathy in his voice and face.

She smiles, briefly, taking her gaze back to the ceiling above.

“Why, of course, didn’t you hear earlier? I am the patron saint of Orphan Thanksgiving.”

He shakes his head. He thought that he had a better response planned when asking her that question, but nothing seems to make any sense right now. 

He looks at them, what a pair.

“You’re not alone, Rey.”

Her eyes flicker to meet his, and she smiles, her eyes shining.

“Neither are you,” she says, sending a little elbow into his side.

He lowers himself, watching her until he’s resting on his back. He reaches for her hand, and he holds it.

The silence stretches, until he hears her sigh again.

“Okay, there is one thing I want to repeat.”

_ That _ piques his interest.

When she tells him, he laughs, and they sit up in his bed.

Ben removes each layer, slowly, letting her see him take advantage of the view. Her sweater comes off, the tiny sparks of static clinging and popping in a countdown until it reveals her bra. She lays back, letting him unbutton her jeans, opening the fly like an envelope. He can see the lace and cotton, peeking out to taunt him. Her hips roll and lift as he takes his time sliding the jeans down, his fingers grasping the naked ankle bone with a small squeeze as he drops her pants to the floor. She moves to take off her underwear, but he stops her, sliding them down inch by inch. He is definitely an instrument of his own torture as each new look of skin and curls makes his breath shorter and less controlled.

He stands and moves away, leaving her bra for last. He lets her watch as his clothes reveal more for her assessment than last night. The scar at his side from a childhood injury, his recent affinity for sweets nestled at his waistline. And if she notices or cares, he can’t tell. She just sits, blushing.

He walks toward her and she stops him, lifting her foot to rest on his stomach, and fuck, he can see a peek, only a peek, of pink, slippery promise between those legs.

“Off,” she says, nodding to his boxer briefs.

“Fuck, Rey, I’m already hard.”

“I know,” she says, quietly.

He removes them, at her request, and climbs in beside her. 

He looks down at her breasts, still nestled in her bra, “If you take that off, I cannot make any promises about what my hands will do in the middle of the night.”

She says nothing with her words, sliding the straps down, and unhooking it. She throws it across the room, not bothering to look where it lands.

She rolls to her side, letting him climb in behind her, pressing up against her and begging his body to calm down.

The lamp is dim enough, and he doesn’t mind having the sight of her in front of his eyelids before he retreats behind.

The shadows of his room are familiar, the feeling is not.

It echoes in the room under their collective breath and down to the marrow of the frame wrapped tightly around her body as they fall asleep.

  
  
  


* * *

Rey wakes, her eyelids still closed.

At first she refuses to move, not wanting to wake him, desperate to savor the moment, but then she feels the thin sheen of sweat in the creases of elbows, knees, and nearly everywhere Ben touches her body.

He’s a furnace, and if she expects to stay snuggled in the little shelter of down and skin, she needs to let her body breathe.

She stretches her legs, and he tightens his hold around her waist. She smiles at the feeling of his hand splayed over her stomach, and her thighs clench and almost twist as she imagines it lower.

She takes the comforter, lifting it to introduce a little bit of air to her heated skin.

She feels his cock, hard and kept safe in the cleft of her ass.

She pushes further into his hold, burrowing deeper into the feeling that she had missed from yesterday.

He stirs, and she can only confirm that he’s awake when she hears a small whisper.

“Rey.”

He sounds happy. She can feel his mouth spread into a smile, pressed into the skin of her neck.

She invites him to wake, rolling her hips and letting the soft flesh of her backside grind against him until she hears his breath hitch and sigh.

She doesn’t have to ask for more.

His fingers climb up her back before combing her hair off of her neck, leaving it to fan above her on the pillow. His lips brush against the nape of her neck, placing gentle pecks along her hairline. She startles and jumps at the feel of his tongue, licking and then sucking at her neck. He makes his way around, a trail forming on the way to her earlobe. It’s exciting and soothing, and she begins to relax further into the feeling of warm, wet breath.

And then his hand returns to her stomach, lingering below her belly button, a question mark. 

Permission.

“Yes, Ben,” she sighs.

He sucks hard in response, scraping his teeth along skin in approval. Her hips roll, her back arches, and his arm, wrapped underneath her brings her in close, resting his palm on her breast. He grounds her to him, roots her to him. His thigh wraps around her leg, holding her open to his exploration.

The hand at her belly lowers further, circling lazily through her folds as the sucking and biting continues at her neck. Every other slide includes a touch to her clit, and she squirms.

He’s enjoying himself, and she can hear the way his breath rises and falls with every response. His breath no longer belongs to him, but to her every nip of pleasure.

The more she squirms, the more relief she receives. She eagerly moves and thrusts into his fingers.

How quickly she climbs, how ready she is to fall into him.

She huffs and jerks her hips, chasing his attention. Her legs cramp, her hips ache from finding just the right place, until he quiets her, meeting her needs with the attention focused on her clit, the circle going from wide and slow to fast and frantic.

She nearly sobs.

She breaks from his hold, rolling over towards him to take his cock in hand.

“Rey,” he says, her name a gasp of surprise.

She has no doubt that he could make her come quickly like this, with his fingers and mouth. She will gladly let him prove it to her again and again, but for now, she wants this, wants him.

“Rey.”

“Shh,” she responds, looking up at him as she strokes him. His eyelids flutter open and shut, his chin tilts back. 

She pushes his shoulder, allowing him to fall, and she delights in the way he eagerly settles to his back to gain more of her attention. 

“Fuck, Rey.”

“Yeah,” she asks, kissing her way to hip bones.

“Sorry, ugh. I know I’m supposed to say that you don’t have to…”

She stops, abruptly picking up at the other hip bone, making her way closer to his cock.

“Okay, go ahead then,” she says with a laugh, opening her mouth over the head and just breathing, letting her warm breath tease him.

“Oh fuck, Rey.” She darts her tongue to lick. “Ugh, Rey, Rey, you don’t…”

Lick.

“Don’t have to,” he blurts out, and she giggles at his inability to complete his sentence in one breath.

Rey drags her tongue up and down his length, savoring the velvet warmth of him in her mouth. She memorizes and devotes herself to learning him, swirling, sucking, and cupping the soft sac below his cock to make him just as unhinged as she felt moments ago. Her lips stretch and she drips a generous amount of saliva over him as she takes his cock further into her mouth.

She raises herself up on hands and knees, parting her thighs to make herself come with the swirl of fingers. She can tell when he finally notices her additional activities when she hears the whispered words flow out of him as a string of curse words. His hips lift, making her take him deeper.

“Fuck, sorry,” he says.

She laughs, coughing a bit.

He should be. He’s long and thick, and she’s already having to be careful not to drag her teeth too much, or take him too far. She places her hands on each hip, pushing down and keeping him from calling the shots as she finds a rhythm up and down his length.

“Rey, please.”

She smiles at the way he says her name. She likes it almost as much as the way he says it with a curse as she slides her tongue up and over the soft ridge at the head.

She circles her clit fast, and preens at the power, the pleasure, and moans at the cocktail of his pleasure mixing with her own.

The more she moans, the more he curses.

“Fuck, it feels good.”

She slows, she picks up speed.

“Rey, stop.”

His hands reach for her shoulders, pulling until she lets go of him with a soft suck to the head, his cock bobbing from the release.

He cups her face, wiping her mouth with his thumb.

“Is it too much to ask…,” he says, a quirk of his mouth to one side, “Can you get on top?”

She nods, crawling and throwing a leg over his hip to straddle him. He’s looking up at her, taking his hands and making goosebumps appear over her arms and legs as he slides his hands up her stomach until he’s cupping her breasts, his thumbs flicking and stroking her nipples.

She jerks, and he smiles, now the secret keeper to one of her spots. She leans back, opening up her sex to her fingers and his viewing pleasure as she strokes and plays in the wetness of her folds, special attention to the little power button of nerves.

“Ben, are you clean?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching her, teasing her breasts, stroking her hips, dragging his fingertips up and down. “Do I need a condom?”

“IUD,” she says. It actually manages to sound sexy.

“If I let you come now, will you fall asleep again,” he asks, smirking and stroking, watching her hips circle.

_ Fuck. Oh yeah. That. _

She sits up, biting her lip and looking down at his face.

He never came that night. His fingers had reached so deep, making her shout and relax into his arms. She remembers palming his cock with heavy eyelids before he had kissed her and rolled her over to curl around her while she sank into the mattress. She could only protest in her mind, her words held back by liquid and exhaustion.

She looks down at him, rocking and reaching for his cock.

“Maybe,” she says, a smile playing on her face.

She rocks and rocks, letting her head fall back.

“Okay. I’m not taking any chances,” he says, moving her hips back and lifting to place her on his cock.

They lower her slowly, and he bites back a smile as he watches her try to take him too quickly. 

“Stop looking so, ugh, smug, Ben.”

It feels incredible as he slides in, his hips lifting. He chuckles, and she prepares to give him a dirty look at the sound of glee in his voice, but then she sees him, staring at her body in awe. Moving his hands over her in ways that amount to total worship.

If she rolls her hips like she wants, he hits that spot. The one that makes toes curl and limbs shake. She does it again, digging deeper.

“Keep going,” he says, “I wanna watch you.”

It spurs her on, and she moves, rolling and rocking until she’s clenching and wailing.

She squeezes so hard, she nearly pushes him out, but he keeps her steady, thrusting into her through her orgasm. 

Rey falls and Ben crests, and it seems especially poignant for the first time he’s inside. The way they ebb and flow, ever since their first meeting. 

Balance.

Outside of the haze of her own pleasure, she’s free to watch him fall apart beneath her. 

She leans over, her nose nearly brushing his, and she licks into his mouth.

He groans and wraps his arms around her, pulling her to lay on top of him. He’s still inside, and she can feel him grow soft.

Ben moves to kiss the shell of her ear, “Let me fuck you again.” He lifts his hips, pushing his soft cock inside. It doesn’t have the same effect as before, but the motion makes her shiver.

“Now?”

The soft, airy chuckle fills her ear.

“Later, again, sometime soon,” he says, “Just let me see you again. Let me take you out to dinner.”

“Or breakfast,” she asks, picking her head up.

“Or breakfast,” he says, not registering her meaning.

She carefully releases herself from Ben’s body and then hops up, making her way to his bedroom door.

She turns, letting her eyes rake over his splayed out, naked body.

She places her hand on her hip, “Well, I’m going to go clean up, and you need to get to work.”

He lifts himself to rest on his elbows with a lopsided smile on his face.

“What?”

She shrugs, “I was promised pancakes.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


There is only one reason to be walking in the icy cold weather at this time of morning.

Well, a few, several reasons, but they all amount to Rey.

Rey is the reason that they’re returning from the grocery store, because Ben promised pancakes.

Unfortunately, Ben doesn’t have all of the ingredients for pancakes.

Rey was gracious and tried to let him off the hook, offering to let him buy her a donut instead, but there was no way in hell he was letting her leave his place without those fucking pancakes.

Ben knows that Rey’s going to let him take her out to dinner. He knows that he’s going to see her again, but a donut on the corner won’t cut it. He wants to keep her in his apartment a little longer, maybe let her walk around in one of his shirts with nothing on underneath. He may even have some socks long enough to come up to her knees.

He nearly trips on the sidewalk, almost taking Rey down with him as he holds her hand in one of his own and the groceries in the other.

The image of her in his apartment, fucking her once she’s sated and full. 

It’s a dream right now, but one he hopes will come true.

  
  


* * *

The pancakes are delicious. 

They are.

They were cold and needed to be reheated in the toaster, but Rey doesn’t care.

He had made a casual suggestion. For her comfort.

She had pulled on a shirt from his bedroom, forgoing the oversized sleep pants in favor of nothing.

He was flipping the last few pancakes as she had walked into the kitchen.

A blush had crept up on his cheeks, and that had been it.

Letting him finger her on his kitchen table had been pleasurable in many ways, including the thought of his roommate’s face as he told him that they had fucked at the same table where he takes breakfast.

Partially clothed and hurried, they had both groaned in relief when he pushed inside her, fucking her like they were on a time limit.

The toaster pops and Rey sits on the counter, watching Ben place his serving on his plate before dousing it with maple syrup.

She knows she should probably make her way home soon, but lingering, every minute makes it feel like it could go on forever.

And the thought that keeps popping up, the one that scares her, the one that makes her fearful to leave. It won’t let her go.

Ben stands between her knees, their plates clanging as they stuff their faces and smile through bits of pancake at each other.

_ I wonder what he’s doing for Christmas. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray! You've certainly reached the end, but subscribe, stay subscribed, or be curious on Twitter, because I would love to revisit these two ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> This is my little love letter to my friends and our "Orphan Thanksgiving". (get it right, Hux) 
> 
> It's short, sweet, and will ::crosses fingers:: be finished in two more chapters. The thought came to me while editing Claim, and I just couldn't stop myself from taking a break. 
> 
> Just a heads up. It's fluffy, but it will address the anxiety, hurt, and loss that people can experience at this time of year. They will generally be quick references until Ben and Rey begin to meet each other on the same level.
> 
> I know many of us are looking at the holiday without some of our favorite people, so this may not be your jam at this time, but hopefully, it will make you smile and/or commiserate with this gang.
> 
> I am currently working on Ch 5 of Claim. I'm editing, so I hope to have that and Little Web updated soon.
> 
> For someone reason, I am on Twitter 😂
> 
> Other works:[CrystalDen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalDen/works)
> 
> Twitter:[@the_crystalden](https://twitter.com/the_crystalden)


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